Peerless
by Ezryl
Summary: The year is 1792, and Europe is on the brink of war. Britain, subjugated under the Dark Lord, is now a place where magic is might, where wizards and witches fill the upper echelons of society. This is the world that Harold Potter stumbles into.
1. I Wish I was a Wizard

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Harry Potter etc. etc. etc.

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><p>Chapter One: I wish I was a Wizard<p>

Harry ran for his life. Behind him, he could hear the shouts of his pursuers as they came closer and closer. Gasping for breath, he ducked into a nearby farm and crouched down in the shadows behind a pair of barrels.

Please don't notice me, please don't notice me, he chanted silently. If his pursuer's caught him, he knew he would be beaten soundly. Again. Sadly, it seemed to be a common occurrence.

His name was Harry James Dursley, a boy of ten, yet so scrawny that he could be mistaken for eight. Of course, he wasn't a _real_ Dursley. Born out of wedlock, or so his aunt loved telling him. And she never let him forget that they had taken him in out of the kindness of their own hearts – given him a place to stay, instead of being dumped in the nearest orphanage like the other bastards. And for that, he should feel glad – glad that they had taken him in, and return, repay them, do all the work around the household, whether it be harvesting crops or running errands. Not that they would ever trust him with money.

Sometimes, he wondered whether he was lucky they didn't dump him in an orphanage. Those that did usually died of starvation – and if you were one of those lucky to survive, you got roped into one street gang or another – thieves, pickpockets, hired muscle and the likes. But then again, he would probably never have to see Dudley again.

Speaking of Dudley, he suppressed a groan, and peered out from behind his hiding spot. Grimacing, he noticed that Dudley, or Big D, as he was called by his cronies, had finally caught up, and they and were prowling around the premises. Hopefully they'd get tired of searching for him and bugger off. Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the wall of the barn.

Harry was an only child – his mother, Lily, had died when he was one. It was said that he was found on the doorsteps of his relative's hovel in Ewel, and that his aunt's scream when discovering him could have woke the dead.

He had stayed with his relatives, sleeping on the floor of their dwelling for 9 miserable years. Scruffy looking, with clothes that had been washed so many times their colors had faded to a muddy brown, he looked just like any other street urchin, except for his eyes. They were a peculiar shade of jade green, and almost seemed to shine with their own light.

He was ten now, almost eleven. The 31st of July. His birthday. A few more years and he would be old enough for his relatives to dump him into the army, or the navy, whichever one paid the most. His relatives seemed eager enough to get rid of him. As his Uncle Vernon always said, 'Hurry and grow up boy, so we can enlist you in the King's Army. Then we can stop wasting good coin feeding and clothing you,' although Harry always doubted that he would. He was too valuable at the farm for them to get rid of him. After all, who would do all the work? An extra pair of hands on the field was a godsend once harvest season set in.

But then again, maybe life in the army wasn't so bad. At least they got paid, fed, and clothed. And once in a while they even got to shoot somebody. Maybe he would even get to meet one of the nobility, the elusive Lords who always seemed to look down upon them commoners. As was their right – after all, they had something that Harry and the rest of them would never possess – magic.

Sometimes, he wished he was born into one of those families with magic, any one of them would do, he would even settle for just _having_ magic, for at least then, he would be somebody instead of the nobody he was now. Magic is Might. He couldn't remember where he heard those words – perhaps they were etched on some wall somewhere, but deep inside him, he knew they were true. For magic was power, and those without magic were scum. It was not always this way, he knew. Once they had a magicless King. A muggle King. King George the III. Otherwise known as King George the Fool.

King George, of the House of Hanover, had reigned for just over two decades before he was overthrown. His reign was marked by great instability – first generated by disagreements over the Seven Year War, as well as the American Revolution. Yorktown, 1781, was the last straw, and a revolution, spearheaded by various Lords, the Malfoys, Greengrass, Notts, Bones, and a host of other names he couldn't recall had ended it. Now they had a new King, a magical King, King Voldemort, first of his name, King of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland.

Arrayed around him were the various Lords of magic, ranging from the aloof Davies to the rich and affluent Malfoys. All those who did not possess magic were thrown out, stripped of their lands and titles, whether they were a lowly Viscount or a Duke, the new regime tolerated no mag icless peers. No Muggles. Those that resisted were crushed – brutally.

The new King's reign was marked with swift and decisive actions – the army was reorganised – while the core of the army was still formed by muggles – the scum of the earth, according to Lord Nott, they were now led by wizards and witches. All those of the officer class were required to wield a wand, for it was believed only those with magic knew how to properly handle troops. For they were wizards, they were nobility, and they possessed magic, which set them apart from the common soldier. It was not unheard of for a soldier to rise up from the ranks – indeed, it was Harry's dream that he would one day join the army and, through an act of heroism or another, manage to achieve a battlefield commission to Ensign, or perhaps even a Lieutenant – but they rarely rose any higher. For they were muggles, they could not perform even the simplest spells, they weren't _wizards._

The Treaty of Paris, signed in 1783, ending the vastly unpopular war with the American Colonies. Ireland had fallen the year after, its ragtag army crushed by the British, soon being absorbed into the United Kingdom. And these past few years, King Voldemort had consolidated his rule, legitimizing his regime and passing a variety of new laws, establishing the civil code of conduct – being one of the first European countries to do so. It wasn't long before normalcy set it, after all, it just seemed _right._ Wizards were gifted. They could do things that no normal man could. They were blessed. They were chosen, and it was their sacred right, their duty, their _obligation_, to rule.

And so, here he was, Harry Dursley, ten, almost eleven, hiding behind a couple of barrels in a run down farm, wishing that he was a wizard.


	2. You're a Wizard, Harold

Chapter Two: You're a Wizard, Harold

Harry stumbled through the entrance of Number 13, Ewell, and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. He noted with relief that Dudley wasn't back yet - thank God for that, and trudged over to the broken down table where a bowl of soup and some moldy bread was placed.

"Boy, you're back, eh?" a shrill voice rang from the kitchen. "Well hurry up and finish your dinner, then you can go drag those two pigs back with you to the Candlesses down the lane. They want it before sunset, so you best hur - Dear God, have you been rolling in the mud again, you scoundrel?"

Harry, in the process of bending and grabbing his dinner, scowled and straightened up.

"Out, out, I tell you! I will not have you dripping mud all over the house. Out! You can go return the pigs right now, forget about the food. Out!" Aunt Petunia screeched.

Grabbing the piece of bread, he hurried outside before she decided to hit him with the ladle she was holding. Mad as a hatter, she was. Scowling, he jammed the slice of bread in his mouth, and trudged over to the two pigs. Blasted relatives. How he _hated_ them. But they were the only family he had left, and he wasn't old enough to head out on his own. At least they provided a place to stay and food. Sometimes.

"C'mon," he muttered to the two pigs, and kicked one of them in the rump to get the going. "Get a move on, have you return the pair of you else I'll be in bloody trouble."

Plodding through the trial up to the Candlesses, he wondered what he did to deserve this. Perhaps he could run away, go off and make a life of his own, be some Lord or another's servant boy, maybe even join one of the numerous gangs on the street, no matter how short their lifespan. Anything but this. Maybe he could reach St. Ottery Catchpole, for he had heard that there was a family of wizards there, the Weasleys, who took in muggles of all kinds, providing homes for those in need. They stayed on as servants, guards, and did odd jobs around the household, but at least they had a home. He was willing to bet that life there couldn't _possibly_ be as bad as it was at the Dursleys.

Oh, how he wished he could, but he knew it was just a dream, an idle fantasy. If the Dursleys ever found out he had ran off, they would no doubt turn up and demand that Harry be returned to them. Well, not demand. No one demanded anything of a wizarding Lord. Probably grovel. Spin some story or another about how he had ran away from home due to a family argument, and in the end, he would be dragged back to Ewell, where he'll be given a thrashing by Uncle Vernon. Not to mention the fact that St. Ottery Catchpole was several day's walk away. He would never make it.

Gloomily, he opened his mouth and was about to call out to the Candlesses that he had returned their pigs, when something hit the back of his head, knocking him over. He quickly rolled over and curled into a ball, expecting another blow. At best, it was just Dudley, finally having found him. At worse, a vagabond or a thief. When nothing else happened, he opened his eyes cautiously.

Staring back at him, were the biggest pairs of eyes he had ever seen. And they were glowing yellow. Yelping, he pushed himself backwards, and found himself staring at a bird. Not just any bird, but an _owl_. And attached to the owl's leg was an envelope. Frowning, Harry tried to think clearly. He knew that owls didn't fly in the daytime, but that wasn't what was bothering him. It was something else, something he knew, yet for the life of him couldn't remember.

"Is that, um, for me?" he asked, and then winced. Animals don't talk, nor do they understand English, he berated himself. To his utmost surprise, the owl nodded, hooted once, and stuck out his's leg.

Warily, Harry grabbed the envelope from the owl and glanced at the writing on it.

_To Mister Harold James Potter_

_Number 13  
><em>

_Ewell, Epsom_

Harold James Potter. The letter was addressed to Harold James Potter, not Dursley, but Potter. Whoever wrote this letter, they clearly knew that he wasn't a Dursley, but he didn't expect them to know what his surname really was. Potter.

_"_Harold James Potter."

He spoke the three words out loud, hesitantly. Was it true? Was his surname really Potter? And them he gasped, as he realised what was bugging him. Owls. Only the gentry used owls. The nobility. The _wizards_.

He made a kind of choking noise as the realisation struck him, and then, in his haste in opening the letter, nearly tore it.

_Dear Mister Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Hogwarts is the most prestigious magical school in the United Kingdom, and as such, acceptances are limited only to a select few. If you shall refuse your place at Hogwarts either due to personal or political reasons, the seat will be offered to another witch or wizard. However, if you accept, sign your name at the bottom of this letter. Failure to respond will be treated as a rejection. We await your response no later than the 31st of July.  
><em>

_Sincerely,_

_Minerva M. McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress _

Tentatively, Harry looked at the owl.

"This isn't a trick, right? I mean, I've wished I was a wizard all my life, and for something like this to just happen, you're not a halli, hallu, hallicit..." Harry's face scrunched up, trying to pronounce the difficult word.

"I mean, even if it is true, I don't have a way to sign my name, and..." he trailed off.

The owl almost seemed to roll his eyes, hooted, and glanced at him as though he was mentally challenged. Then without warning, pecked his finger. Flinching, Harry scowled at the bird and jerked his finger back.

"What the bloody hell was that for, you stupid bird!"

The owl just hooted at him reprovingly, then stared at him.

Glowering, he looked back at the letter, which was now smeared with blood. _His_ blood. Several new lines of text had appeared.

_Term begins on the 1__st__ of September. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. If you have any further questions, please contact Amanda Campbell of the Magical Education Board in London. The address is enclosed below, otherwise, if you are unable to reach the address stated by yourself, an owl is also acceptable._

Harry glanced up at the owl again, but this time, in awe. This was magic, actualy magic! The words had appeared out of nowhere, he hadn't missed them by accident before, he knew. He had read each word carefully and slowly, just in case. His eyes shined. His blood, h_is_ blood had caused the words to appear. He was special. He wasn't a nobody, just another nameless peasant on the streets. He was a_ wizard._

Then he paused. How the hell was he suppose to send an owl if he didn't possess neither ink nor quill?_  
><em>


	3. A Magical Eye Opener

Chapter Three: A Magical Eye Opener

He left the pigs at the Candlesses. He was too preoccupied to even acknowledge Mister Candlesses' gruff thank you, and started trudging the path back home. Or not.

"Say, Mister Candlesses, could you possibly lend me some ink and parchment to write a letter?" he inquired hesitantly.

"Yeh know how to write and read? Where in the seven hells did you learn that, boy?"

Flustered, Harry looked down at his feet and mumbled something unintelligible.

"Speak up boy, don't mumble when you're speaking," Candlesses growled.

"Father Dewhurst taught me, Mister Candlesses. He was scandalised when I said I couldn't read the Bible, so he forced me to go every weekend and learn my letters, else he said my soul would go to hell."

"He did, did he? By God, let see it then. What do the words on that tavern over there say? Not the name of the tavern brat, you've probably heard it enough times to have remembered it, but the words underneath."

"Food and lodging for a shilling, no beggars allowed," Harry read slowly, squinting to see the words.

Candlesses gave a grunt. "It'll do. I have ink and parchment inside. You'll write it inside, where I can see you. Trust you as far as I can throw you, boy. Don't want you making off with my quill and ink, now do I, eh?"

"Thank you, Mister Candlesses. Of course not, Mister Candlesses."

Almost tripping over his own feet in his haste, he hurried over to the table which Candlesses was pointing at. "In the corner, the table with two stools."

He smoothed out a sheet of parchment, grabbed a quill. Grabbing out the letter, he tried his best to emulate the elegant writing on it.

_Dear Miss Campbell,_

_My name is Harry Potter, and I recently received a letter regarding Hogwarts. Enclosed was a list of books and equipment. While I would like to attend Hogwarts, I have neither the means nor money to buy the required materials, nor do I know where to get them. Is it possible for someone to lend me some money, as well as show me around the wizarding world?_

_Sincerely, _

_Harry Potter_

He sprinkled some sand on the parchment, drying the ink, before folding it up and heading outside

"Thanks, Mister Candlesses!" he added, right before he exited the premises.

He glanced around the clearing. Where was that blasted owl?

"Um, Mister Owl? Are you there? Hoot hoot?" he called out. There was no reply.

Flustered, Harry turned in a full circle. Where was he?

"Hoot, hoot, hoot!"

He was starting to feel a bit silly, but then, a figure swerved down from a tree and landed in front of him. He seemed to be looking at Harry disapprovingly, as though it was his fault he took so long.

Chagrined, Harry attached the letter to the owl's leg. "Could you take this to Miss Campbell please?"

The owl didn't even deign him with a reply, and with a spread of his wings, flew off into the sky.

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><p>When Harry arrived back at the Dursleys, the sun had already set. He paused at the threshold, before steeling himself and walking in.<p>

"There you are boy, what took you so long? The sun's already set!" snapped Aunt Petunia. "Go on, boy, there are dishes to be cleaned. Do you know how long we've been waiting for you to come back and wash them?"

Harry stared blankly at Petunia, then glanced at table.

"What's that in your hand? Look Dad, Harry's got a letter!" said Dudley.

"What? Well, give it here boy!" snapped Uncle Vernon, starting foward. He reached out to snatch the letter out of his hand, but Harry nimbly jumped aside.

Staring at Harry in shock, Vernon gave a snarl, and growled. "Give it here, boy."

"I won't, it's mine."

"Yours? Don't be ridiculous. Who'd be writing to you?" Vernon snorted.

Ignoring him, he turned to look at his Aunt, who was growing pale. "You knew, didn't you?" he accused. Petunia just stared mutely back, her mouth opening and closing, but no words came out.

"Now see here boy, that's no way to talk to your Aunt, you ungrateful -"

Harry ignored Vernon's raised voice.

"When were you going to tell me? Were you ever going to tell me? Did you believe that if you just, I don't know, _kept quiet_, that I would never have found out?"

His voice was rising.

"Ma, what's going on?" Dudley whined.

Harry turned to glare at his cousin. Then spat out the three words, which he had been wishing for, waiting for, his entire life.

"I'm a wizard."

Everyone was silent. The wind seemed to have stopped. Indeed, if you strained your ears, you wouldn't even be able to hear the grass softly swaying.

"I'm a wizard, I'm going to Hogwarts, and none of you can stop me."

The Dursley's stared back, they seemed to have been struck dumb and mute, but suddenly, it was shattered by a loud crack. Thunder, Harry dimly registered.

"No you're bloody not. You're not some fancy wizard, and you're not going to that, that, wizarding school or whatever of theirs. We swore we'd beat the magic out of you when we took you in, and by God, you're not going." Vernon roared.

"God has nothing to do with it. You can't stop me!" Harry snapped back.

"Oh yes I can. No one would know, if you suddenly didn't show up that that freak school of theirs. I could just lock you up, and if you won't keep quiet, well, there's always death."

"No Vernon!" Petunia shrilled.

"Shut up, Petunia! We swore we'd snuff out the magic in him if we ever took him in! You agreed!" Vernon snarled, before turning to Harry. "And now, boy, I'm going to give you a good beating, like you deserve."

Vernon swaggered forward, raising a fist to pummel Harry into oblivion. And quite suddenly, there were shards of wood everywhere. Vernon was lifted off his feet and blasted sideways, crashing into the wooden walls of the hovel.

Gaping, Harry turned and stared at the broken door. Standing at the doorway was woman clad in a pristine robe of red velvet, holding a stick - no, wand, Harry correctly himself. Glancing at the Dursley's, she sniffed, as though they were beneath her attention, and then stepped gingerly through the remains of the door.

"No you won't, you worthless muggle. After all, as young Mister Potter has stated, you can't stop him."


	4. The Wizarding World

Author's Note: I'm surprised by the amount of attention this story has garnered so far, my inbox has been spammed by subscriptions and favorite stories, despite the fact that very few of you leave reviews. Nevertheless, I am grateful for your support, so without ado, I give you chapter four of Peerless. I apologise in advance if there are any grammar or writing mistakes - this is my first work, and proofreading is not my forte. If you do find any, please don't hesitate to point it out.

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><p>Chapter Four: The Wizarding World<p>

They made an odd pair, walking down the streets of London. One of them wore robes, velvet red without a speck on them, striding with a serene confidence that sent people scattering to the side, bowing their heads in a sign of respect. The other one, scuttling behind her, was scruffy looking, with baggy clothes that looked as though they hadn't been washed for weeks.

"Um, ma'am, if I may ask, ma'am, are you Miss Campbell?" Harry asked tentatively.

The witch blinked, surprised at the question, then snorted. "Amanda Campbell? That parchment pusher? Me? Hardly."

Harry noticed that she was quite pretty.

"My name, Mister Potter, is Amelia Bones. I'm part of the Magical Law Enforcement Corps, otherwise known as the Aurors. We're the wizarding police. We patrol, keep order, and when needed, serve as reservists for the army. Miss Campbell was forwarding your letter to the Department of Social Welfare when I managed to snag a look at it, and told them that I would come collect you myself. You may call me Miss Bones." She said.

"Um, nice to meet you, Miss Bones. I'm Harry, Harry Potter."

A look of distaste came over her face, before she smiled sardonically. "Harold Potter, Mister Potter. Your name is _Harold_, not Harry. You're a wizard, not some common muggle."

"Sorry ma'am," he mumbled.

She eyed his dirty, ragged appearance critically, then turned and stalked down the road. "Don't worry about it, you never had a proper upbringing. I don't blame you for your lack of manners."

"If I may ask, Miss Bones, where exactly are we going?"

"Why, to Diagon Alley of course. Can't buy your school supplies anywhere else. Well, I suppose you could, but it would be dreadfully time consuming. Diagon Alley's where it's all at though. Think of it as a marketplace, where all wizards congregate trade and sell goods." A pitying look. "Not that you'll know about it, of course. Not to worry. We'll make a wizard out of you yet."

"Its just that, ma'am, I don't have any money. And I don't think the Dursleys will be able to afford my tuition."

Bones scoffed. "As though they would be willing to pay even if they could. Don't worry about it. Ever since his royal highness ascended his throne, he's delegated a portion of the country's taxes to cover the tuition of those in need. Won't deprive the nation of talented witches and wizards just because of a lack of funds. Not that you'll need it, with what your parents left you in Gringotts."

Harry stumbled and nearly fell over. "My parents? My parents left me something? Did you know them?"

There was a pregnant pause.

"Yes, I knew Lily and James Potter. They were two of the finest magicians I have ever met."

"If you don't mind me asking, ma'am, do you know what happened to them? My Aunt told me they were dead, yet…"

Grimacing, Bones turned to face him sympathetically and said gently. "I'm sorry. I'm afraid what she told you was true. They're dead, Harold. They've been dead for nine years."

Harry lowered his eyes, blinking back the tears. "I'd be much obliged if you could tell me how they died."

Bones fetched out her pocketwatch. "Let's leave that discussion for later, shall we? Its quite late, after all. Come, Mister Potter, we're here. Through these doors here." She ushered him through a door of a tavern. It was too dim to see the name, but it turns out he didn't need to.

"This is the Leaky Cauldron, Mister Potter. We'll get you a room here tonight, and I'll collect you tomorrow. Don't worry, I'll pay for the lodgings." She said brusquely.

"Miss Bones, if I may, why are you…" he struggled to find the proper words.

"Why am I being so kind to you, Mister Potter?" she said, with a knowing smile. "Let it be suffice to say that I knew your parents. And I feel obliged to make sure you settle into wizarding society properly. Now enough chatter, Mister Potter. I'll meet you down here at eight o'clock sharp. If you need food, ask the barkeep. His name is Thomas. Tell him to charge it on my tab. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Miss Bones."

* * *

><p>Harry woke up to find the first of the sun's rays peering through the window. For a moment, surrounded by unfamiliar sights, he panicked, before calming down.<p>

Harry – no, Harold, stumbled blearily down the stairs.

"Morning, young master." A cheerful voice called out.

Blinking his eyes rapidly, he recogised the man that greeted him as the barkeep who Miss Bones had pointed out last night.

"Morning, Mister…Thomas?" he flushed. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't know your surname."

Tom gave a chuckle. "Its quite alright, since I don't know yours either, although I did see you walk in with Miss Bones yesterday. The name's Graham. Thomas Graham, but Tom's fine, since I ain't a proper wizard like you folk. And you might be?"

"Harry – I mean, Harold. Harold James Potter. If I might ask, Tom, what do you mean exactly by, not a proper wizard? I thought you either had magic, or you didn't."

Tom grimaced slightly. "Well, the truth is, sir, I'm a squib."

At Harold's blank look, he elaborated. "It means my parents were both magical, yet I can't even perform the simplest levitation charm. Kind of the opposite of muggleborns. Now, if you'd wait just a few minutes, I'll whip up some breakfast for you. You look like you need a change of wardrobe too," he grinned, eying the dirty rags Harold was wearing. "If you're dropping by Diagon Alley later, you might want to stop by Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions."

Flustered, Harold murmured out a thanks, and sat down at a table in the corner.

"Here you go, Mister Potter. Breakfast, and today's morning post. The Daily Prophet, as well as a copy of the muggle newspaper, just incase you fancy keeping track of what's going on in the mundane world. Don't you worry, I'll direct Miss Bones over to you when she arrives later on. I assume she is coming?"

Replying in the affirmative, Harold dug into his breakfast with enthusiasm, not having had a proper dinner the night before, before glancing at the newspapers. Skimming a few advertisements, his eyes strayed across an article that caught his attention.

_The Brunswick Manifesto_

_Today, the 25__th__ of July, 1792, Charles William Ferdinand, Duke of Brunswick, commander of the Allied Armies of Austria and Prussia, threatened to invade France if even a hair of the French royal families' hair was harmed. This announcement was followed by a mobilization of tens of thousands of troops at the Franco Austrian border, poised to invade. Ever since Revolutionary France declared on Austria in April, tensions have been high. Although French troops have deserted en masse, opting to flee rather than to serve a illegitimate regime, fresh troops have been raised up from all over the countryside. It is unsure what effect this proclamation will have on the various nations of the world, although Brunswick has made it clear that his intentions were to '__restore the king to his full powers and to treat any person or town who opposed them as rebels to be condemned to death.'_

Engrossed in his reading, he didn't notice his visitor until she gave a slight cough. Dropping the newspaper, he stammered, "Miss Bones, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there, I was reading the newspaper, you see, and I…"

"Its quite alright, Mister Potter. I daresay there aren't enough lads like you who take the time to keep up with the news these days. All they care about is the newest racing broom, or pranks and whatnot." She replied, glancing at the newspaper.

"Ah, France, nasty business that. I assume you know what happened there recently?"

"Actually, I'm not quite sure, ma'am. You see, I never got to read a proper newspaper before, most of what I know is hearsay from the streets…" Harold trialed off, embarrassed.

Miss Bones gave a noncommittal grunt. "Well, I'll just give you the basic groundwork. As you know, the French are ruled by the Bourbons, a dynasty that has lasted for centuries. Their line has produced some fine wizards, although noticeably, in the past few years, they seem to be rather lacking in intelligence. While we recently were at war with the French over the Colonies, his majesty, in his infinite wisdom, has reopened diplomacy with the French after the Treaty of Paris in 1783."

Harold vaguely remembered hearing something about that. Something to do with the American War of Independence.

"Now, what you must know about the French, is that they are separated into three classes. The First Estate – composed of the inherited nobility, all of them proper wizarding folk, the Second Estate, which is comprised of the religious branch of society, although no one knows why they need that. You don't believe in God, do you, Mister Potter? No? Good, I don't either. If you ask me, its some fancy story that some magicians came up with centuries ago to hoodwink the common folk and keep them in line. If they believe in God, then they're less likely to be discontent and rebel. Ha! Rule by divine right and all that shite, look where that's gotten their French King. A prisoner in his own palace, that's what. No thank you. Magic is might, and don't you ever forget that, Mister Potter. We wouldn't have gotten to where we are today without those words."

Personally, he agreed with those words. Magic _was_ might. After all, magic was something tangible, something within his reach, not something as insubstantial as _religion._ Magic was real. Magic was his _birthright._ After all, his parents were magical, and if Miss Bones was to be believed, damn talented with their wands. He vowed to himself then and there that he would become the best wizard there ever was.

"Now, where were we, ah yes, the Third Estate, Composed of commoners, muggles, muggleborns, and all the other riff raff who made their fortunes through good luck and what not. Of course, this made up more than nine tenths of the population. A few years ago, they proclaimed the Tennis Court Oath. Silly name if you'd ask me, but the basic gist of it is establishing individual and collective rights for all the estates in general, not just the first. Now, what they deemed the problem was, is that the King and the nobility, along with the Church, owned the majority of the land, despite making up only a small fraction of the population. They sought to redistribute wealth and property, so that everyone could have an equal share. Could you imagine the upheaval? It would have been anarchy! The thought that a common muggle would be entitled to the same amount of respect as a wizard? Disgraceful!"

Miss Bones sniffed. "'Liberty, Equality, Fraternity.' That's their motto. Ridiculous, if you ask any sane gentleman. How can a commoner own the same amount of property as one of the nobility – those gifted with magic? We were destined for great things, not to be dragged down and degraded at the same level as a muggle. Of course, the whole thing is spearheaded by muggleborns. Sieyès, Robespierre, and the likes. All of them rising above their station – they've gotten a taste of magic and power, so now they want more of it. Mark my words, Mister Potter, this so called French Republic won't last. It'll either by blasted back to the stone ages by one of the other great European powers, or it'll turn into an autocracy, with a magician on top. Hopefully a proper wizard, not one of those upstart muggles. Dreadful business, Mister Potter, simply dreadful."

Harold wasn't sure whether he agreed or not with Miss Bones. After all, the view seemed to be contradictory. On one hand, magic was might, but on the other, she seemed to be favoring those with wizarding parents as opposed to muggle ones, whereas they both possessed magic…Deciding not to worry about it at the moment, he cleared his mind.

"Come, Mister Potter, enough talk, I daresay I've wasted enough of your time already, and you have a busy day ahead of you. Let us depart."

Standing up, Harold followed Miss Bones to the back of the tavern, which led to, surprisingly enough, a grey stone wall. Turning around, Miss Bones gazed at his face, and spoke in a solemn tone. "I assume this is your first foray into wizarding London, Mister Potter?"

At his nod, the corners of her mouth quirked up, and she tapped several bricks quickly with her wand. "Well then, Mister Potter, allow me to be the first to welcome you to Diagon Alley."


	5. Diagon Alley

Chapter Five: Diagon Alley

The sight of it made his jaw drop. He couldn't help it, he just gaped. Never before had he imagined a place as strange yet wondrous, people dressed in robes, coats, and dresses, going about their business. Shops lined the streets, with names ranging from Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour to Slug and Jiggers Apothecary. It was magical.

As Miss Bones led him down the alley, he twisted his head this way and that, trying to catch it all in. There was Potage's Cauldron Shop, and right beside it was Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, which Tom told him about. To the opposite, there was a shop called Quality Quidditch Supplies, and by God, was that a _broom_ on sale?

"Pay attention now, Mister Potter. We're coming up on Gringotts, the wizarding bank. That's where the majority of families store their wealth, although some of the more suspicious customers prefer the Swiss Branch, which is located somewhere further down the alley. Over paranoid, that lot. Gringotts is well secure enough, considering the fact it's run by goblins."

"Goblin's, ma'am?" Harold couldn't help the small squeak that came out.

Miss Bones, misinterpreting his tone, frowned at him disapprovingly. "Not to worry, Mister Potter. I daresay that your gold will be safe enough in Gringotts. Nasty little buggers, goblins, but they love their coin well enough. If its any reassurance, the Fourth Foot Guards have been assigned to help, ah, _assist_ the goblin's in the bank's security. We're coming up on it now, that tall building over there where the road splits."

It truly was a majestic sight. Made out of gigantic slabs of snow-white stone, it towered above the rest of the alley. Marble pillars supported the roof, and on them were carved strange symbols, which seemed to pulse with magic. The gate, made of what appeared to be bronze, towered twenty feet high, was guarded by half a dozen men in redcoats with muskets. If he squinted up at the sky, Harold fancied that he could see another batch of men in red coats on the roof, staring down at the Alley, keeping an ever-watchful presence.

As they entered the building, Harold found himself in a large chamber – no, lobby, he corrected himself. Lit by numerous floating chandeliers, people strode to and fro, hurrying to one place or another. And at the desks were numerous short grubby looking creatures. He assumed these were the goblins. As Miss Bones steered him towards a counter, he noticed their teeth were very sharp.

"Mister Potter would like to claim his vault." She stated curtly.

The goblin blinked slowly, and ground out. "I see. And does Mister Potter have any identification? Papers, perhaps?"

At Harold's blank look, he snorted. "Obviously not. Very well then, place your hand on the table. Any hand will do. Knifejaw! I'll need one of those blood analysation forms."

At his holler, a young goblin hurried over, clutching a piece of parchment. On the top right hand corner was a squiggly symbol, blood red, which seemed to be imbued with power. Words lined the form, with many blank spaces, which Harold assumed were suppose to be filled in.

"Name." The goblin stated, sounding bored.

"Harold James Potter."

The goblin grunted. "Just relax, Mister Potter. This'll only hurt for a moment." And before Harold could protest, stabbed his finger with a needle.

Wincing, Harold held his hand steady, and watched, fascinated, as a drop of blood dripped down and fell upon the parchment. The drop of blood seemed to fizz, then started burning, and then before his eyes, the previously blank spots on the parchment filled itself out.

Staring at the parchment, the goblin grunted again. "Well, he's a Potter alright. I can only make out one of his parents, his father. James Redmond Potter. Mother unknown. Probably means she never bothered to register herself at Gringotts or the Ministry, not that I blame her. Blood magic is dangerous stuff, and ever since the change of regime, it's become mandatory to register your blood to the authorities. Makes it easier to catch criminals, or so they say. All they have to do is get a forensics team on the site, scoop up some blood, and they'll be able to figure out who was there. I guess we better unfreeze the Potter account then, eh?"

Nodding, the gnarly one turned back to the pair. "We'll send someone to unfreeze your account right away, Mister Potter, but it'll take some time. You can come collect your key later on during the day, but for now, you can make your withdrawal right here at the front desk. How much do you require?"

Harold glanced at Miss Bones, hopelessly loss, and seeing his confusion, she answered for him. "Thirty guineas should do the trick. Twenty shillings to a guinea, twelve pence to a shilling, Mister Potter, but I daresay you know that already. The King's government nationalized the monetary system quite a few years back. Before, magicians still used the old system of galleons, sickles, and knuts, but it was too bloody confusing. 17 sickles to a galleon, and 29 knuts to a sickle, by God. No, the guineas is much easier to remember. 240 pence in a guinea, otherwise known as 20 shillings."

Nodding along with Miss Bones, Harold turned to look at the goblin, who seemed to have conjured a bag from thin air. "Here you go, Mister Potter. Thirty guineas."

As he opened the bag, he caught his breath. In it, where thirty shiny gold coins. More money than he had ever seen in his entire life!

Looking at him sympathetically, Miss Bones put a hand on his shoulder and steered him away. "Come along now, Mister Potter, you have a busy day ahead of you."

Still dazed by his newfound wealth, he mumbled a thank you to Knifejaw and the older goblin as he walked away.

* * *

><p>Their first stop was Madam Malkins Robes for All Occasions.<p>

"They ought to serve for your everyday needs." Miss Bones lectured, "Although if you find yourself in need of more, lets say, lavish clothing, such as acromantula silk, you might want try out Twilfitt and Tatting's instead. Its run by Countess Turpin, if my memory serves, her daughter is attending Hogwarts this year as well. But you won't need those anytime in the near future."

She straightened up as they entered the shop. "Ah, Madam Malkin, pleasure to see you again. No no, the customer's the lad, not me. He shall be requiring the usual Hogwarts set, with the hat and all. Lets say, three pairs of robes. As for casual wear…" She turned around and eyed him critically. "Well, we'll leave that up to you, Harold, it's your money after all. But get him a dark green cloak; silver fastenings, with the standard waterproof charms engraved upon it. It'll complement the color of his eyes. And make sure it has pockets, lots of them."

Turning to look at Harold, she stated. "You never know if you'll need them, one tends to find themselves carrying all sorts of things around with them at Hogwarts."

He chose several colors at random, midnight black, vermillion, sky blue. Honestly, he didn't really care – these robes were more comfortable than anything he had worn before! He eyed his old mud crusted clothes on floor. _Never again_, he swore to himself.

Wearing his new purchases, he strode out of Madam Malkins, and found himself grinning. He could get used to this! As Miss Bones steered him towards Flourish and Blotts to buy his stationary and books, he noticed a pair of men clad in crimson robes, striding down the alley. They seemed to ooze authority, and he noted how people seemed to shy away from them whenever they walked past – not in fear, but respect.

"Ma'am, if you don't mind me asking, who are they?" He asked, pointing at them.

"Don't point, Harold, it's rude and undignified. Just nod your head in their general direction and I daresay one will get the gist of whom you're talking about. Ah, I assume you mean the crimson robed fellows? Aurors. The wizarding police. Remember when I told you I was part of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"

At his nod, she continued briskly. "I'm what you might call a commissioner. My job is to oversee a section of the Auror Corps, the London branch to be exact. The Corps is divided into a number of sectors, each tasked with keeping the peace in a specific region. As London is the capital, it gets its own branch. The two you see over there are just regular Aurors, the lowest of the low. You can tell by the lack of markings on their robes. If you're interested, I'll get you a book on Aurors in Flourish and Blotts."

As they entered the shop, Miss Bones shooed him off towards the bookshelves. "Go on, Mister Potter. You have your list of required books? Good, collect them, and grab any extra books you would like as well, but don't buy too many. Hogwarts has an extensive library. Odds are, many of the books you want to buy are located there as well. I'll get the ink and parchment."

At her dismissal, Harold hurried over to the bookshelves. At last, real magic! He eyed the tomes vivaciously. Inside each one of them was a plethora of information, just waiting to be read and applied. He grabbed the _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade One_, as well as the rest of the required texts first, then perused the rest of the books leisurely. He ended up purchasing _A Compendium of Common Curses and Their Counter-Actions_, _Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed, Modern Magical History, _as well as a set of books titled _Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts._

He made his way back to the counter where Miss Bones was waiting for him. She added another book to the ones he selected, aptly titled as _The Auror Corps_. It added up to a total of six guineas three shillings and eleven pence.

As they left the bookstore, Miss Bones pointed him in the direction of Ollivanders, telling him to get himself a wand. "The most exciting part of this trip for you, I'd say," she said, smiling slightly. "Run along now. I'll collect your potions supplies."

* * *

><p>As Harold entered the wandshop, he straightened up. The shop was dusty, grimy, and looked abandoned. The windows were cracked, some corners filled with brown mud. It looked like a run down hovel, yet for some unknown reason, he felt on edge. The was a sense of ancient power in the shop, even the most insignificant speck of dust seemed to be filled with it.<p>

If he wasn't so on edge, he would have missed it. There was a flicker in the corner, colors blending, folding, _warping_, and then an elderly man appeared.

"Ah, you're here for a wand, I presume?"

"Yes, sir. Sir, if you don't mind me asking, what you did just now, with the…" He waved his hand helplessly.

"Appearing out of nowhere?" the old man said, chuckling.

"I wouldn't exactly say that, sir." He answered cautiously. "There was a flicker, I mean, I thought I could see a faint outline, but whenever my eyes tried to focus on it, it slipped and…" he trialed off.

"Spotted that, did you?" the elderly man gave a delighted chuckle. "Interesting, How very interesting. Its been a long time since anyone has managed to see through my disillusion charm."

"Disillusion, sir?"

"Think of a charmeleon, how it's skin changes colors to adapt to its environment. It doesn't make one truly invisible, but it helps them blend in. Not as difficult to cast as true invisibility. Now that's a skill only a rare few magicians can perform. But you're here for a wand, yes? Name?"

"Harold, sir. Harold Potter."

"Well bless my soul, Harold Potter." The wandmaker whispered. "I wasn't sure if I would be seeing you or not. It has been a mighty long time since the name Potter was last heard among us. There hasn't been a Potter for close to a decade. I wouldn't expect anyone of your generation to recognize that surname, although a few of us older folk might."

As Harold opened his mouth to ask what he meant, the wandmaker flourished his own wand, and tape measurers flew out and started measuring him in the oddest of places. Head width, waist, arm span. His mouth promptly shut.

"Are you right handed or left handed? Surely not an ambidextrous?" The wandmaker inquired cheerfully.

"Left handed, sir, although I can write decently with both." He thought bitterly back to the Christmas a few years back, when Dudley had pushed him down a flight of stairs. He had fallen and broke his left arm, which forced him to do chores with his right. Clenching his fist, he promised himself that one day, he would have his revenge.

"Well, let's try this then. Oak, Dragon heartstring, eleven inches. Give it a swish!"

They tried wand after wand, combination after combination, but none of them seemed to fit.

"Tricky customer, are you?" Ollivander inquired cheerfully. "No matter, we'll find the correct wand for you. It's in here somewhere! I wonder."

He made his way to the back of the shop, sidestepping a few wands that had clattered to the floor earlier during one of Harold's earlier attempts. "Why not this one? Holly and phoenix feather, a round dozen inches, nice and supple."

As Harold's grasped the wand, his arm seemed to move on its own accord, raising it above his right shoulder, and swiping it down in a swish. Silver sparks, ethereal in the dimness of the room like fireworks, lighting up the entire shop. His hair seemed to be swaying on his own, lifted up by an unseen wind, and to Ollivander, it seemed as though his eyes glowed eerily green.

"Well, that _is_ intriguing, Mister Potter. How remarkable. Intriguing indeed…"

"Excuse me sir, but what's intriguing?"

"I remember every wand I ever sold, Mister Potter. Everyone wand. It just so happens that _that_ particular wand's phoenix donated just two feathers. I knew they would be something special, that the owners would be destined for greatness. The brother to the wand you now hold, I sold a bit over fifty years ago. The master of that wand did terrible things, unspeakable, yet great. How intriguing that an entire half century would pass, before its equal chose a master of it's own."

Harold shuddered, although he couldn't tell whether it was with fear or ecstasy. Destined for greatness…

* * *

><p>Although he pressured Ollivander on the identity of the owner of the other wand, he wouldn't budge an inch.<p>

"Wands are sacred, Mister Potter." He lectured sternly. "A person's wand is part of them, the loss of a wand is like the loss of an arm. The gravest misconducts and crimes can be punished with the snapping of a wand. You simply do not go about asking about such things. Now run along now, that'll be three guineas and eleven shillings."

When he exited the wandmaker's shop, Miss Bones was waiting outside for him.

"What on Earth took you so long Harold? It's almost time for lunch. Come along now, we'll grab a bite at the Leaky Cauldron, and then we'll buy you an owl if you want one."

* * *

><p>"Miss Bones? You never did give me that explanation on how my parents died." Harold said softly.<p>

A sigh. "You must understand, Harold, that its complicated."

"Just tell me."

"Very well. Now, you have to understand, the Great Britain wasn't always as idyllic as it is right now. I know it might sound harsh, but your entire childhood, your entire generation, has lived a sheltered life. We had the War of the Quadruple Alliance in 1718, which lasted for three years. This was followed by the Seven Years' War in 1756 to 1763. Not to mention the American Revolution, which, led by King George the Fool, led to the ignominious of British troops in the New World. The first time we lost a war in centuries.

"It was dark times in the 1780s. Defeat overseas had led to a general discontent at home. The people needed someone to blame, and naturally, King George, who was still pushing for a continuation for the war with the colonies, was vastly unpopular. Crime was on the rise, people were found dead on the streets. When Parliament vetoed down his decision to send fresh battalions to British Ca nada and continuing the war, the King ordered the guardsmen at Buckingham Palace to storm Westminster."

Another sigh. "A majority of Parliament, as well as the Wizengamot was in session at that time, and the use of force caught them underprepared. The vast majority of them were slaughtered, but some of them made it out, spreading the news of what happened. Great Britain was now embroiled in a bitter civil war. From the confusion emerged two factions – The royalists, led by Albus Dumbledore, who claimed that the entire situation was engineered by forces behind the scenes, dark forces, and that they were playing into someone else's hands. Along with his private militia, they formed the core of the forces loyal to King George. Lord Voldemort, God bless his soul, led the opposition. His catchphrase, as you well know, was 'Magic is might.' And you have to understand, it appealed to a lot of wizards and witches back then, many muggles too. They blamed the folly of the loss of the colonies on King George, who was a muggle king. The line of Hanover never produced any wizards, they were muggles through and through. It was their lack of wisdom and foresight that led to the loss of the colonies. I still remember the rallies, the speeches…"

Her voice trialed off, her eyes glassed over, lost in memories. "It was their lack of vision, of magic, that led to the humiliation of Britain. Muggles weren't intended to rule. It was the duty, the _obligation _of wizards and witches to rule over their lessers. To educate and teach them, to guide them on the right path. Never again, Voldemort swore, would Britain be defeated again. We would become the greatest power the world has ever seen, our empire would span across the globe, an empire where the sun would never set."

"Yet not everyone had the same views as us. We had all swore oaths and land, to serve, oaths of allegiance. It wasn't easy for any of us to break our oaths, but it was for the greater good. Yet some of us couldn't bear to break their word."

She turned and faced Harold, her eyes sad, yet beneath it, there was an undercurrent of steel. "Your parents were royalists, Harold. They fought for King and country. You could say they were caught on the wrong side, but no matter how much they disagreed with the King and his policies, they kept their loyalty, their ideals. Never forget that."

Grasping his shoulder, she bent down and stared deep into his eyes. "They were good people, Harold. Despite being on the other side, no matter what anybody says, don't let anyone else tell you differently."

* * *

><p>Author's Note: I've decided to put these at the end of chapters now. I feel like it'll be better for people to read the actual chapter first before my comments on it. First of all, this was a bitch to write. The scenes in the alley, it was hard not to parrot what happened in canon, yet manage to twist it enough to add a flavor of my 18th century fic into it. I'm not sure whether the last scene with Amelia about his parents came out right, it seems more of a monologue than her actually telling the story. There's very little reaction from Harold, after all, he never really knew his parents, but they're still his parents, so he should feel <em>something<em> for them, hence the curiousity on what happened to them.

Obviously it comes as a little bit of a shock that he's considered to be the child of a pair of traitors to the current regime, yet, as Ollivanders pointed out, not many in the newer generation would remember the name Potter.

Again, I apologise if there's any spelling mistakes, I do try my best to edit it, but it is a pain to catch everyone single one.


	6. God Save the King

Chapter Six: God Save the King

Harold woke up to the sound of raised voices. Stumbling bleary eyed out of bed, he reached underneath his pillow and pulled out his wand. It had been weeks since Miss Bones had first introduced him to the wizarding world. She had told him that muggleborn wizards and witches usually stayed at a government facility – a manor, where they would be provided food and lodgings, to be precise, in downtown London, where they were considered to be wards of the state. There they resided until term started for whatever wizarding school they were enrolled in. In normal circumstances, that would have been where he would stay, but seeing as his parents were both magical, she gave him the option of staying at the Leaky Cauldron. She had swiftly departed after telling him that if he ever needed anything, her door was open. Groaning, he stared at the pocket watch she had given him for his birthday.

'Every proper gentleman should have a timepiece, Mister Potter, and you are no different. It's a bit early, but happy birthday.' He had smiled fondly at her, indulgently, yet he treasured the simple watch, obsidian black, which ticked unerringly. Charmed to be waterproof and unbreakable, the simple object stirred a feeling of great happiness from him whenever he saw it. It was, truly, the first present he had ever received.

Glancing at the time, he groaned again. Seven thirty in the morning, by God, what was that infernal racket? Making his way to the bathroom, he splashed his face with cold water, waking himself up, before dressing and heading downstairs.

The pub was packed, more crowded than Harold had ever seen before. Folk of all sort seemed to be there, ranging from teenagers to elderly chaps.

Spotting Tom, he hollered out "Oi, Tom, what's going on?"

Grim-faced, Tom turned to face him and shouted back, "More bloody news from the continent, Mister Potter. It's the French, again. There's a spare copy of the Daily Prophet behind the counter at the bar, help yourself to it."

Fighting his way through the crowd, he reached underneath the crowd and groped blindly until he managed to fish out the newspaper. Unfolding it, he scanned it rapidly, eyes darting to and fro.

_Revolutionary Mob Besieges the Tuileries, King Louis XVI flees!_

_Yesterday, on August 10__th__, 1792, revolutionary Fédéré militias — with the backing of a new municipal government of Paris, supported by various units of the National Guard, including a number of muggleborn wizards, besieged the Tuileries palace, where King Louis XVI was staying with his family. The insurgents, armed with muskets and cannon from the Bastille garrison, which had fallen a month before, marched upon the palace. Numbers were estimated to reach as high as 50,000, with at least a fifth of them being National Guard._

_The French Royal bodyguard, otherwise known as the Swiss Guard, opened fire on the protestors after they stated that they were here to force the King to abdicate, demanding bread and butter and refusing to leave. Numbering 900 strong, the Swiss Guard, led by Lord Karl Josef von Bachmann, put up a brave defense, but nonetheless, were slaughtered by the bloodthirsty mob. With the majority dead, the survivors, numbering 300 odd surrendered, yet after giving up their weapons, were marched off to the Hotel de Ville to be massacred instead._

"By God." He murmured. A magician King, forced to abdicate? Wizards slaughtered in the streets by muggles, led by other wizards, against their own kind. No wonder everyone was in an uproar!

Another customer, hearing his exclamation, nodded grimly. "Aye laddie, dark times, mark my words, dark times. Can you imagine? Muggle soldiers rising up against their rightful lords, killing wizards left and right! Being led by upstart muggleborns! Rising above their proper place in the world, those greedy little buggers. Small wonder everyone is so concerned. Word has it the King is mustering six new regiments."

Out of sheer politeness, Harold waited until he had finished his rambling, before fighting his way through the crowd towards the entrance of Diagon Alley. The second he stepped through, the sounds of fife and drums filled the air.

He had never seen the Alley this crowded before, men were darting hither and there, and the tension is the air was palpable. Men in crimson robes could be seen everywhere, patrolling in pairs. He let himself be carried forward by the crowd, moving along with it until they reached a large square, otherwise known as Isleton Square.

In the center of the square were several tables, manned by men dressed in elaborate uniforms, a mixture of the plain muggle redcoat and wizarding robes. Behind them were row upon row of redcoat soldiers, bearing muskets with fixed bayonets, polished so clean that they shined brightly in the morning sun. They wore tall dark hats, and to young Harold, they looked quite intimidating with their expressionless faces and sharp bayonets. He would have sworn they were statues if he hadn't seen one of them blink.

In front of them was a podium, elaborately carved, where a tall man stood. He wasn't handsome, but you couldn't say that he was ugly either. His face was disfigured with a huge scar, which slashed diagonally across it, ending near his neck. His uniform was of the same cut as the men sitting at the tables, yet it was more gaudy, filled with an abundance of lace and medals.

"That's Major General Crouch!" One bystander whispered to his friend. "My uncle's part of his staff. He's in charge of the Third Division of Home Guards."

Crouch raised a hand for silence. Almost immediately, the square seemed to hush, the entire crowd staring eagerly at Crouch, eager to be reassured by whatever the General had to say. Pointing his own wand at his throat, he intoned, _sonorus. _

"My fellow witches and wizards." Crouch began. Harold noticed that he had a very scratchy voice, yet it didn't detract from the powerful tone that seemed to brush over the crowd.

"I'm sure by now that all of you here have heard of the troubles brewing in Europe. Rebellions springing up in the German city states, ideas of equality spreading among the lower Rhine, of the revolutionary fervor which seemed to have swept over France. I don't have to tiptoe and sidestep the subject like those fancy politicians do in the Wizengamot and Parliament. We all know about the atrocities committed, the countless magicians slaughtered in their homes, in their beds, even the children. By now, all of you have heard about the massacre that took place at the Tuileries Palace in France. All these brutalities… for what, I ask you? For liberty, equality, and fraternity!" Those three words were spat out with such vehemence, such emotion, that the front ranks of the crowd, enthralled by his speech, rumbled angrily with him.

"What you might not know, or might not have believed, is that these perpetrators, the leaders of this so called revolutions are witches and wizards, just like you and I. But I am here to tell you that they are _not_ like us. I'm sure there is not a single magician out there in the crowd, listening to me right now, who would take up arms against his fellow wizard, who would justify the slaughter of innocent women and children in their beds for some flimsy idea of equality, who would _betray their country_ and join in with these barbarians who have overtaken Europe."

A pause.

"All clever young fellows, who are free and able, and are ambitious of becoming gentlemen by bearing arms, are hereby invited to step up and meet the recruiting officer. Who promises that they should meet with every encouragement that merit and good behavior can entitle them to. Those meeting the qualifications would immediately receive his majesty's royal bounty of one hundred and fifty guineas."

Here, Crouch paused again, then seemed to straighten up. "But I know you are not here for just the promise of gold, nor the lure of adventure. You are here because you areproud to be an Englishman, to be British! To be witches and wizards!"

The crowd seemed to be electrified now, clapping their hands, letting out shouts of encouragement and excitement. Even with the_ sonorus_ charm, Crouch had to shout to be heard. "You won't sign up to be a King's officer because of the bounty, but because of your sense of duty, of honor! You know that it is a _privilege_ to serve both King and country in keeping back the tide of lawlessness in these dark times! Nay, you are here because it is your willful obligation to show to the rest of the world how civilized we are, and while the rest of Europe may crumble into the anarchy brought on by muggle ideas such as liberty and equality, Britain shall not! Even if we stand alone, even if we shall be the bastion in the lone sea against a horde of savages who have thrown away both honor and duty for the lust of power, we shall not falter!"

Thrusting his wand in the air, red and blue sparks shot out, filling the air with sparks. "God save Britain, and God save the King!"

The crowd needed no encouragement, and Harold, caught up in the excitement, followed along. Almost as one, everyone witch and wizard in the square drew their own wands and thrust them in the air, chanting "God save the King! God save the King! God save the King!" Men and women rushed forward to sign their names upon the parchment. They ranged from old, grizzled veterans of the previous wars to bright-eyed youngsters fresh out of school. Some of them, aiming to impress their fellow peers, proudly made their marks upon the rolls and stood alongside the other recruits.

All the while, the crowd chanted. _God save the King. God save the King. God save the King. _

* * *

><p>Harold trudged back to his room at the Leaky Cauldron. Now that the enthusiasm had passed, he was troubled. The entire country seemed to be gearing for war. In these times of troubles, where did that leave young wizards like him, those that haven't even attended school yet, or those in the middle of attending? What if they closed down Hogwarts?<p>

No, he chastised himself. Surely they wouldn't close Hogwarts. But a naggering doubt lingered in the back of his mind. Blasted muggles. Why couldn't they just stay in their rightful place? And what right did those muggleborn wizards have to stir up trouble? Rousing the rabble and turning them against fellow witches and wizards? It was disgraceful. To turn one's back upon a world that had taken them in, that had taught them the wonders of magic. He swore to himself that he would never do that, to never forget what the wizarding world had done for him. If it weren't for magic, if it weren't for Miss Bones, then he would still be stuck in that run down hovel with the Dursleys, forced to labor like a serf for nary a thank you.

A chilling thought ran down his spine. What if the schools _were_ closed due to the troubles in Europe. Would he be forced to go back to the Dursleys? Surely not, he wouldn't, he refused!

Truly worried now, Harold grabbed some ink and parchment from his trunk, and scrawled a hasty letter to Miss Bones.

_Dear Miss Bones,_

_I was in Diagon Alley today, where I witnessed _– oh, what was that fellow's name, Crow, Crawl? Biting his lip in frustration, he wrote – _an officer of the King's Army make a passionate speech on the troubles in Europe, and called for all young witches and wizards to sign up and join the King's Army. Due to the_ – the, the rising? No no, that wouldn't do. Due to the – _heightened tensions between the various countries, I have heard rumors that we may be going to war. Seeing as the situation has changed, I was wondering whether Hogwarts would still be open the coming term, as I would hate to miss out on a chance to attend school._

_Sincerely,_

_Harold James Potter_

He hurriedly sprinkled some sand on the parchment, then rushed out the room and down the stairs.

"Tom, Tom, I was wondering whether you had any owls I could borrow? For a quick letter?" he pleaded.

Seeing his disheveled look, Tom nodded in the affirmative.

"You can borrow Froth. Give me a second, I'll bring him out of his cage."

Thanking the barman profusely, Harold collapsed down on the stool. Perhaps if school did closed, Miss Bones would take him in? Maybe he could stay at that government manor in central London. Perhaps he could stay here at the Leaky Cauldron? He'd ask Tom whether he could rent a room indefinitely. Perhaps…

* * *

><p>A gentle knock on his door woke him up. It was dark; the moon could barely be seen through the windows. Grabbing his pocket watch, he glanced at the time. Two in the morning.<p>

Grasping his wand, despite the fact that he didn't know any real spells, he called out, "Who is it?"

"Its Miss Bones, Mister Potter."

Relief coursed throughout his body, and he sagged back on the bed. Standing up, he moved to the door and unlocked it.

"Hello Harold." She said quietly. "May I come in?"

He nodded silently, moving aside. She walked in, closing the door behind her. "I'm sorry I haven't replied to your letter, as you can imagine, things were a bit hectic today at the office." She said, grimacing slightly. She paused, then peered at Harold closely. "Are you alright?"

Suddenly, as though a dam had been released, it came pouring out of him in a rush. "I'm sorry, Miss Bones, its just that, Europe, and, everything's such a muddle, and I heard the King's raising new regiments, and it seems like the country is preparing for war, and Hogwarts might close, and then I'll have no where to go, and I don't know any magic, and I'm afraid I'll have to go back to the Dursleys again and-"

He felt tears in the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill down. Turning his head away so she couldn't see them, he swallowed bitterly. "I don't want to have to go back to them. They despise me, they think I'm a freak, they make me do all the work and force me to sleep on the ground beside the door, and I, I loathe them, I hate them, I hate all of them!"

Her eyes softened. "Oh Harold, don't be silly." She took two firm steps forward, hesitated slightly, and then wrapped her arms around him. "Shh, it's alright, don't worry. Hogwarts isn't going to close, nor any of the other wizarding schools."

Sniffling, Harold turned and buried his face in her chest. "It isn't going to close, Miss Bones? You promise?"

Smiling softly, she murmured back. "Of course it isn't, Harold. Hogwarts isn't going to close because of a silly thing such as a war. And I promise you, if it ever does close, you're always welcome at my house."

She stroked his hair gently, her eyes glazed over slightly as she stared at the moonbeam coming through the windows, and then they hardened. "You won't have to go back to those filthy muggles ever again, Harold. That's a promise."

* * *

><p>Author's Note: This chapter was a short one, but I just had to throw it out there, because I knew I couldn't go to bed without finishing this final chapter before Harold goes off to school. I wasn't sure how well I depicted Crouch's speech, it was hard, twisting the words into phrases that would rouse a crowd, even if they weren't exactly grammatically correct. I tried to capture the nationalistic spirit a country would surely feel when threatened by the unknown - and this uprising in France is certainly the first of its kind - no one knows what's going to happen. Trying to tie in historical facts with magic is a bit hard, but I hoped I managed to tie it together with the story. During the French Revolution, many peasants did raid manors and houses, killing the gentry and nobles who lived there. I just simply added the ability to do magic to the nobility. One of the key points of this story is that if someone is of the gentry, a nobleman, it is almost guaranteed that he or she is a magician, so the words 'Duke, Earl, Lord, etc.' as well as other noble titles can be superimposed as 'wizard.' This applies to a number of great powers in Europe and across the world - if one of the countries differs in this, it'll be stated in the story.<p>

If you haven't caught on, many of the leading figures in the French Revolution - Robespierre and the likes, are muggle born wizards in this story. They were introduced to the world of magic by magicians, taught, sheltered, and raised by wizards and witches, and after all that they've done for them, they turned their backs on wizarding society, deciding instead to mingle with the common folk, with talk of "Liberty, Equality, Fraternity," (Which was the catchphrase of the French Revolution historically) not just for wizards and witches only, but for muggles too. They also resented the fact that many pure blooded wizards inherited the noble titles from their forefathers and so on, while a muggleborn wizard rarely got such recognition and respect. While wizards are a class above the common people, they themselves are divided into classes as well, with the wealthy nobility at the top, half bloods and those mixing between the ladder, while the muggleborns, still considered 'gentlemen' and of the gentry, are near the bottom. Of course, there are many different viewpoints on this argument, some argue that they ought to be grateful that the proper magicians took them in and taught them magic, else they wouldn't know how to perform any at all, while others rail at the unfairness of the class system, but the key point in which everyone is so riled up over is that the French muggleborns are using what they learned to kill other witches and wizards, seen as an act of betrayal.

I'm sorry if that's all a bit confusing and complicated - it boggles me too sometimes, but I think I've stated it clearly enough now. Other than that, at the end of this chapter, we finally get to see Harold acting his age. Many authors, when writing fanfiction, seem to forget that the characters are, when they start Hogwarts - only eleven, and they have these wild schemes where they plot and manipulate their way through school, displaying surprising maturity and thoughts of an adolescent teenager rather than an eleven year old child. I tried my best to keep Harold as simple as possible, intelligent to a point, but he still stumbles over a few words that are difficult to pronounce. His memory isn't perfect, and while he displays a remarkable grasp on the current political situation in Europe, rather than thinking of the bigger picture, he is still self centered and slightly churlish, only worried that he wouldn't be able to go to Hogwarts and learn magic, and the possibility of having to go back to the Dursleys. I hope the emotional scene at the end helped reinforce the idea that no matter how intelligent he seems, Harold is still a child at heart.

Until next time,

Ezryl

PS: I'm sorry for the length of this A/N, I just had to get it out of my system because I was afraid some readers couldn't keep track of what was happening.

PSS: In reply to one of my reviews. This story is not going to be slash. And no, I have not thought of any pairings/relationships. I have a general idea of where I want this story to go, but relationships haven't factored into it. Much.


	7. We're off to see the Wizard

Chapter Seven: We're off to see the Wizard

* * *

><p>"Come along now, don't dawdle, Mister Potter, else you'll be late. And just the other day you were telling me how afraid you were that Hogwarts was going to close." Miss Bones teased lightly.<p>

Blushing, Harry averted his eyes, and replied dutifully. "Coming, ma'am."

As far as he could tell, ever since that night, she seemed to have reverted back to her old self, although every now and then, she would exhibit a protective streak, which he had rarely seen displayed towards him before. It made him feel warm.

Grabbing his trunk, he left his room and followed her down the stairs.

"Are you leaving us, Mister Potter?" Tom enquired cheerfully upon seeing his luggage. "Off to school then, eh?"

Smiling at the barkeep, he nodded slightly, unable to keep the joy out of his face. Miss Bones led him through the backdoor and into the alley. Harold couldn't help but ask. "Excuse me, ma'am, but I thought we were going to Hogwarts?"

"We are, Mister Potter, we are. Tell me, where is Hogwarts located?"

"Um, Scotland, somewhere. I'm not sure of the exact location."

"That's quite alright. It is suffice to say it's around 50 miles or so to the west of Edinburgh. Have you heard of the floo?"

"I recall reading something about it in _Modern Magical History. _I believe it has something to do with…fire? No, wait." His face scrunched up in concentration, before his eyes light up. "Transportation, ma'am. That's why you asked. We need a way to get to Scotland, and the floo enables us to. It's a form of transportation that has something to do with fire."

She rewarded him with a slight smile. "Quiet correct, Mister Potter. Tell me, what else do you know about the floo?"

"Nothing much, other than the fact it was just recently invented at the turn of the century in 1700."

"Very well, I'll fill in the gaps. Now, magicians have a variety of ways to travel around. There are three main magical transportation methods – first, flying, either by magic carpets or brooms. Good for short to medium distances, but not really practical for long distance flights, seeing as the rider might become fatigued, and if careless, fall to their deaths.

"The second method is apparation. By far the most dangerous method of the three, apparation disassembles your magical core and body, transporting you near instantly from one place to another. The longer the distance the higher the chance for a part of you to become, shall we say, 'left behind,' otherwise known as becoming splinched. I have known wizards and witches who have left entire arms and feet behind. Once, a witch disapparated and reappeared without her head. Needless to say, she died instantly. Apparation has a standard safe distance of around five hundred yards, any longer than that, and the chances of splinching increase exponentially. Of course, powerful wizards have been known to apparate for miles, but it is extremely rare. Another thing that you must keep in mind is that after apparation, your core needs time to settle down and become stable again, before you can apparate again. One can perform multiple apparations in a row, but each one increases the chance of splinching. As you can see, apparation can be very useful during a duel to outmaneuver your opponent or to dodge spells, but most magicians never apparate more than thrice in an hour."

"And now we come to the last one. Floo powder. Invented in 1700 by Ignatia Wildsmith, it is a silvery powder which enables those with magic to travel through something called the Floo Network. Each country runs their own floo network, linking all the major cities together. Being extremely expensive to maintain, the network is a delicate piece of magic, requiring precise calculations, else one might end up, say, several hundred feet over the English Channel, which is why the government maintains tight regulations over it. There are three main floo locations, all guarded by aurors in London. One is in the Ministry of Magic, another, at the Guard barracks, so that troops can be redeployed swiftly to any areas that need it, and the third is located right here in Diagon Alley."

"Does floo powder allow you to travel to any exit as long as its located in the Floo Network?" Harold inquired politely.

"No, else it would be anarchy. Each floo is set to allow transportation to a fixed number of places. For example, the one in Diagon Alley can't possibly be allowed to connect to the barracks, else we would have civilians crawling all over a military installation. Most public floos connect only to other major cities. There, they'll have to purchase or acquire other means of transportation to wherever they are headed. Any other questions?"

He shook his head.

"We'll be meeting with the students who lived at the government manor, where you shall all floo to Edinburgh. There, you shall meet with your other peers and be taken to Hogwarts. Ah, I daresay, there they are now. Mister Smith!" she called out.

A tall dark haired man leading a gaggle of children raised a hand in reply and started walking over. "That's Mister Smith. He's the deputy superintendent of the Magical Youth Reclamation Services, otherwise known as MYRS.

"He yours, Amelia?" he inquired cheerfully. "Which school is he going to?"

Shaking her head slightly, "No, I'm afraid Mister Potter isn't related to me the slightest. He's just starting Hogwarts this year."

"Ah, Hogwarts, I believe you have a niece starting there this year?" Harry started. He wasn't aware that Miss Bones had any relatives, never mind that they were going to Hogwarts as well. Immediately, he felt guilty for taking up so much of her time the past month. Surely she would have wanted to spend time with her niece?"

Smiling slightly, she replied, "Yes, a girl called Susan. Lovely little girl. She takes after her mother."

While they talked, Harold noticed an ever increasing amount of children appearing from behind Mister Smith. There were students of every age, from ones that looked as young as he did to teenagers. There must have been hundreds!

"Yes, well, it does seem to be getting a bit crowded here, so let's go, shall we? Mereyside Academy first!"

Harold watched curiously as Mister Smith led a bunch of students, at least fifty or so to the fireplace, which was guarded by a pair of aurors. Next to time, on a table, a clerk, obviously bored of his job, called out "Name, destination, purpose."

"Berry old chap!" Smith replied happily, "Wonderful seeing you again."

The clerk, Berry, blinked. "Dear God, is it September 1st already? Good to see you again Smith. And where are this lot headed too?"

"Liverpool, Mereyside. Professor Kampstuv is waiting for them at the other end. There's 71 of them."

"Right. Liverpool, Mereyside, 71, students, Mereyside Academy of Basic Wizardry. Richard, I'll bother you to set the floo for Liverpool, if you'd please."

Nodding, one of the aurors adjusted some dials and tapped the fireplace with his wand. Grabbing a bucketful of glittery, silver powder, he threw it in the fire. The flames turned emerald green, and before Harold's astonished eyes, one of the students, dragging his trunk alongside him, jumped into the flames and promptly vanished. A few of the other first years screamed, as Mister Smith hastily assured them that everything was all right. The flames were perfectly fine, see? He stuck his hand into the fire. When it didn't burn or shrivel up, they calmed down.

One by one, they climbed into the fireplace with their luggage, vanishing the second their entire body was encompassed by the flames. Once Mereyside was done, came Shrops School for Sorcerers, then Derbys Institute for Magical Learning, Bucks College for the Magically Gifted, and so on, until finally, Mister Smith called out "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

"This is you, Mister Potter." Miss Bones said softly, pushing him forward. Turning around, Harold said, in his most solemn tone, "Thank you for everything you've done for me, Miss Bones. I won't forget your kindness. I'll become the best wizard there ever was, you won't regret it." Chuckling, she ruffled his hair, and said. "You're welcome, Harold. And I'm sure you will. Feel free to write to me any time if you are in need of help or advice. My door is always open to you."

Nodding solemnly, he turned and jogged his way to the back of line. Those in front of him looked at him curiously.

"You going to Hogwarts too?" a mousy haired boy asked.

Nodding, Harold held out his hand. "Potter. Harold Potter, nice to meet you."

Grinning, the other boy grasped it. "Nice to meet you Harold. I'm Arthur Harris. First year, right? Thought so, I didn't recognise you, so I naturally assumed. Hey, let me introduce you to some of my friends."

Turning his head, he stood on tiptoes and tried to spot them in the rather long line. "Oi, Lewis, Mitchell, Ward, where are you?" he hollered.

A pair of upperclassmen winced and covered their ears, before one of them turned around to berate him. "For God's sake Harris, keep your bloody voice down. Can't you wait till we arrive in Edinburgh before your start yapping your mouth off?"

Wincing, Harris promptly shut up, before whispering to Harold is a conspiratorial tone "That's Morris. Daniel Morris, fourth year. He's a Hufflepuff. Sometimes, I wonder whether he got in because he lacks the brains to be in any of the other houses."

Snickering, Harris went on to describe the boy beside him. "Next to him is his sidekick, Allen Mitchell. They were buddies before they found out they were wizards, so naturally, they stuck together. He's a Hufflepuff too, and he's terrified of spiders."

"What about you?" Harold asked curiously.

Grinning, Harris puffed out his chest. "I'm a Gryffindor, the house of the brave and honorable. This year's my second year. What house do you think you'll be in?"

"To be honest, I'm not sure."

"Well, I guess you don't really know till you get there, eh? Being sorted and all."

Frowning pensively, Harold replied, "I guess."

Tuning Harris out, who seemed quite happy to just continue describing Hogwarts, Harold wondered which house would suit him the most. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each one had different characteristics that suited it, bravery, courage, and chivalry for Gryffindor, hard work, tolerance, loyalty, and fair play for Hufflepuff, intelligence, creativity, and wit for Ravenclaw, with Slytherin valuing ambition, leadership, and resourcefulness.

He wouldn't call himself particularly intelligent, all though he did have a thirst of learning for all things magical. Wanting to be the greatest wizard that had ever lived, did that fall under Slytherin or Hufflepuff? After all, it was an ambitious goal, yet one did not become great without overcoming challenges and hard work. Confronting the Dursleys over his magical heritage…did that count as bravery, or sheer stupidity?

Lost in his musings, he didn't realise that it was his turn, until the clerk barked, "Well, get a move on boy, there's a line behind you, you know!"

Muttering an apology, he turned to wave goodbye to Miss Bones was talking to one of the aurors on duty. Catching his eye, she gave him a smile and made a shooing motion.

Steeling himself, he placed a foot in the fire, dragged his trunk in, and then put his other foot down. The second he did, the world around him vanished in a whirl of green flames.

* * *

><p>Spinning rapidly, Harold grew dizzy. He felt like he wanted to throw up, before he was spat out. His knees buckling, he barely managed to keep himself from falling facedown on the floor, aided by a pair of arms.<p>

"First time travelling by floo?" a sympathetic voice asked.

"Nodding shakily, he straightened up and murmured thanks to girl who had kept him from hitting the ground. She was tall, with long black hair tied in a ponytail. She was already wearing her Hogwarts robes, where, emblazoned on her chest, were two badges. One was a bronze eagle, wings spread in defiance and beak held high upon a blue background while the other was dark blue with a silver P.

Smiling at him, she raised an arm and indicated at a row of carriages pulled by horses, all of them having the Hogwarts crest on them. "My name is Elena, Elena Turpin. I'm a fifth year prefect, and if you have any questions or require assistance, just ask me or anyone else you see with a prefect's badge upon their robes. There should be one of us in every carriage. Run along now, just hop on a carriage, anyone of them is fine. Leave your luggage here, it'll be brought to the castle after you – make sure you grab something to read or do first though, perhaps a set of gobstones or cards if you have them, it's a long ride. Oh, and tap your luggage with your wand so that your magical signature is imprinted onto it. You'll see why later."

Pushing him gently forward, she turned to greet the next person, who turned out to be another fifth year, as they seemed to be old friends.

As he was rummaging throughout his trunk, he heard her voice call out from behind him again. "Sorry, I almost forgot. Remember to bring your school robes with you. You'll change into them just before you reach Hogwarts."

Nodding in assent, he fished out his black robes, and grabbed a copy of _Modern Magical History _as well_, _before climbing aboard the nearest carriage. and found himself astounded once again.

From the outside, he would have guessed the carriages could have seated four, maybe six people comfortably. However, now that he was actually in one, he could see that the insides were the size of his room at the Leaky Cauldron, tripled. There were at least score of students sitting in the couches around the room. In the center was a buffet table, where there was more food than Harold had ever seen before in his entire life. To his left were three doors, two of them leading to laboratories, while the third led to, from what he could see, a smaller room where older students seemed to be mingling, but no less grand.

Glancing around, he couldn't spot Harris, so he found a seat next to a window and sat down. Opening the book, he flipped to the chapter where he had left off, and started reading.

_The American Revolution_

_When war was first declared on the Colonies, everyone expected the rebellion to be crushed swiftly. After all, the colonials had no proper army, their ships could not face the Britannia's fleet, which was the grandest and best trained in the world. Not to mention the British redcoats, who, unlike the rest of Europe, drilled with live rounds. After the Battles of Lexington and Concord, morale was high, yet Bunker Hill shook the British greatly._

_American wizards, showing great ingenuity, laced the battlefield with explosive charms and spells, which blew up once the redcoats came within close proximity. Militia, led by magicians skilled in the craft of forestry and woodcraft, laid waste to supply lines through hit and run tactics, appearing out of nowhere, and vanishing swiftly. The distinct British redcoat, easily seen in the gloom of the forest, also contributed –_ "Do you mind if my cousin sits next to you?"

Startled, Harold looked up. The person who asked had an easy going smile on his face, with a slightly large nose. Perched on top of them were a pair of silver rimmed glasses. Harold idly noticed that his robes were trimmed with yellow, and upon his chest was a black badger in front of a yellow background. Standing next to him was a short, slim girl, with hair the color of honey, who seemed to be glaring at the boy.

"I'm perfectly fine taking care of myself, thank you very much." She snapped. Her fingers nervously played with a lock of her hair. Turning to look at Harold, she gave him a pleading look, "Its just that everywhere else seems to be full…"

Looking around, he noticed that the carriage was, indeed, full. Nodding in assent, he shifted slightly over on the couch and so that she would have more space.

The boy gave a slight exhale in relief, then smiled cheerfully. "Sorry, its just that I promised my parents I would look out for her if she got into Hogwarts, and I didn't want to go back on my promise. Thanks again!"

He turned around and headed to the opposite corner, where a group of boisterous boys were gathered. He lifted an arm over his shoulder as he went, waving absentmindedly back at his cousin. "See you later, brat!"

Turning around to look at the girl curiously, he noticed she was doing the same thing. Both of them instantly averted their eyes. They sat in an awkward silence, that probably would have lasted the entire ride, if the girl didn't suddenly blurt out, "My name's Eloise Theroux. What's yours?"

"Harold, Harold Potter."

Frowning slightly, she continued. "Potter? That's a strange surname. I haven't heard that before. Are you a muggle born?"

Harold shrugged. "As far as I know, my parents were both magical. That's what I was told, at any rate. I grew up with muggles my entire life, so forgive me if I'm not as well versed in wizarding customs as you."

Making a noise of sympathy, she eyed him speculatively. "That must have been horrible, living with muggles. Tell me, do they really…"

And so, Harold spent the rest of the journey answering her questions. No, muggle's aren't cannibals, they don't eat their young if they're deemed too weak to survive, and yes, some muggle men have been known to sell their wives for money. Yes, he quite agreed, it was barbaric. In return, Eloise told him what it was like to live in a wizarding household, describing various activities they did, such as horseback riding, flying, and balls during major holidays. Before long, the sky outside turned a shade of grey. Before long, the sun, slowly setting over the horizon.

The door separating the older students from the younger ones suddenly opened, and a soft chime echoed throughout the compartment. Looking up, Harold spied a regal looking boy wearing robes trimmed with the green of Slytherin standing at the threshold. As the noise quieted down, he tapped his wand slightly upon his through, and intoned, '_sonorus._'

"Everyone, we shall be arriving at Hogwarts soon. Please proceed to change into your school robes. First years, gather beside the buffet table once you have changed. Further instructions shall be given shortly." He had a soft voice that, with the aid of the sonorus charm, echoed throughout the compartment. Tapping his throat once more, he vanished back into the other compartment with a twirl of his robes."

Bidding goodbye to Eloise, he went with the rest of the boys to change in the bathroom. One of them ribbed him good-naturedly. "That your girlfriend, mate? You two seemed quite close"

Spluttering in denial, Harold blushed slightly as the other boy gave him a wink. "Kidding, my friend. I'm Oliver Brown, first year."

"Harold Potter, first year."

As they changed into their robes, Oliver introduced him to the rest of his friends.

"That's Reginald Stuart, and the short one next to him is Daniel Griffiths. The skinny bugger is Ashward Toulson. We're fellow first years like you too."

As he shook hands with the lot of them, he noticed that everyone around them were shaking hands and making introductions as well. By the end of it, Harold had shaken so many hands that he couldn't make heads or tails who was who. The only names he could remember were Toulson's and Oliver's.

Emerging from the bathroom, the first years went to stand by the buffet table while everyone went to sit down again. Making his way over to Eloise, she frowned at him. "What took you so long? If I didn't witness it myself, I would never have believed it. Girls changing faster than boys!"

Embarrassed, Harold whispered a sorry, as the Slytherin Prefect emerged once again from the other compartment. Deciding to forgo the sonorus charm this time, he walked over to the first years.

"Right, I know you're all dying to be off this carriage, so I'll keep this brief. Leave the clothes you just changed out of on the carriage. Tap them once with your wand, and the house elves should be able to trace the signature back to you. You'll receive them back later on after dinner. Now, we should be arriving just about…now." As he finished speaking, the carriage rumbled to a stop. Striding his way over to the door, a flick of his wand opened the it, and he jumped off. "First years this way. Come on, move it. Stop wasting time. Macdonald, yes, you boy, for God's sake, just jump down boy. Its barely a foot tall."

As the first years exited the carriages, Harry, shivering in the light breeze, noticed that the rest of the carriages had stopped as well. The first years were being ushered off the other carriages by their respective prefects. "You're all here? Right, follow me."

He strode over to an intimidating looking man in black robes standing next to a tree. Harold noticed that his nose was hooked and overly large, his skin seemed sallow and pale. When the man spoke, he half expected him to have fangs.

"Thank you, Mister Torreson. I'll take it from here. You may rejoin your friends." The prefect inclined his head in a mark of respect, and then turned around to enter the carriage again. As the rest of the first years joined them, the teacher, for Harold assumed he was a teacher, raised a hand for silence.

"My name is Severus Snape. You shall address me as Professor Snape, Mister Snape, or sir. Whenever you have a question, you shall raise a hand and wait to be called upon. There will be no uncouth behavior here at Hogwarts, and absolutely no miscreant behavior. If I spot any, you shall be expelled faster than you can say Hogwarts. Everyone clear? Good, follow me."

The crowd of first years, sufficiently cowed, shuffled after the professor. He led them down a path lit with lanterns to a pier, where a plethora of boats waited.

"No more than four to a boat," he stated curtly. "If you disobey, and the boat capsizes, don't expect anyone to come save you. Hogwarts does not tolerate dunderheads."

Picking the closest boat, Harold climbed into it, followed by Eloise and another boy he didn't know. They were joined by a brunette haired boy who had his wand tucked behind his ear.

"Hello Potter." He said. Harold started, then cursed, for he was obviously one of the boys he had just met on the carriage, but before he was forced to admit that he forgot the brunette's name, the boy continued, speaking to the other two passengers on the boat.

"My name's Leighton Williams, nice to meet you."

"Glen Thomas, likewise."

"Eloise Theroux."

As the other three passengers on the boat dived into a discussion about the four houses, Harold watched the professor. He noted how his eyes seemed to see everything, silently watching. The hooked nose man withdrew his wand, and with a flicking motion, all the boats started moving in tandem.

Harold sucked in a breath. He couldn't wait until he could do that one day. To make things move with just a flick of his wand, conjure up incredible magics to bedazzle and awe others, all the power in the world at his fingertips. He stared enviously at the professor, noting how he seemed to effortlessly guide the boats underneath an arch. As they cleared it, the first years caught their first glimpse of Hogwarts.

There were many ooos and ahhhs. Over on another boat, Harold heard a girl whisper "I've read that Hogwarts was a castle, but I didn't expect it to be this…majestic."

Squinting at the castle, Harold found himself to be in agreement. Majestic fitted the castle perfectly. The walls towered above the countryside, and the tall ramparts managed to convey a sense of ancientness and power. On top of the towers flew flags, and he tried identifying them all. He recognised the various house symbols, the lion, the eagle, the badger, and the snake. There was the red cross of St. George representing England, as well as the flag of Hogwarts, a shield upon a black background with wands crossed over it. Above them all flew the Union Jack, representing Great Britain.

He saw a glint of light near the top of the ramparts. As he was about to point it out to his fellow passengers, it vanished in a puff of smoke. Then, a roaring sound seemed to pass, and a few girls, startled, screams.

Professor Snape's disdainful voice cut through the babble of voices. "Calm down, you fools. That was a formal salute from the garrison of Hogwarts, welcoming you to the school.

"They fire _cannon _at us to welcome us to Hogwarts?" a blonde boy voiced out, scandalized.

Fixing the boy with a glare, Snape derisively answered him. "Mister Malfoy, if you had been paying proper attention, you would have noticed that there was no splash marking the descent of a cannonball in the water. Indeed, if you had any brains at all, you would have managed to piece together that the gun was firing blanks."

In the gleam of moonlight shining over the lake, Harold noticed Malfoy's face seemed to be flushed red. Raising his head high, he heard his voice echo through the din. "When my father hears of this…"

As he peeked at Professor Snape, Harold observed that he seemed to be smirking.

* * *

><p>"The first years, Minerva."<p>

"Thank you, Severus. I'll take them from here."

Professor Snape left them with an elderly woman with a stern face, who was flanked by a man wearing a redcoat officer's robes. Turning her gaze on the first years, she seemed to be judging them, before letting out a slight smile.

"My name is Professor McGonagall, deputy headmistress of Hogwarts. Standing next to me is Colonel Campbell. The colonel and his men are garrisoned here for the safety of the school, as well as providing security and guard detail for any guests we may have. If the colonel or one of his officers gives you an order, I expect you to obey, unless countermanded by the headmaster or a professor."

Harold could tell she didn't seem to like the colonel much. From the way he rolled his eyes, one could tell the feeling was mutual. "The colonel and his men shall strive to keep out of your way, so I doubt there will be any problems. Other than that, I believe they are ready for you now."

Turning swiftly, she led the first years down a long corridor, which ended up leading them to a vast foyer. All around the foyer were redcoats holding muskets, standing at attention. She stopped before a pair of grand doors, which towered at around twenty feet high. Withdrawing her wand, she gave it a swish, and the doors opened.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: This chapter was even more difficult to write than the last one. I realised what a pickle I was in once I remembered that locomotives weren't in use until the early 1800s, therefore they would need a new way of transportation to Hogwarts. With the magical signature thing, think of a wand as a finger. When a person touches something, he leaves behind a fingerprint which can be used to identify someone. A wand is sort of the same, house elves can detect magical signatures and trace them back to their owners as well, but only for a a short time, around 10-12 hours. Like everything else, it fades overtime.<p>

I found it quite hard to have Harold engage in conversation with his peers. As many other fics, they just have the trainride, with a conversation extremely similar, if not identical to what happened in cannon. Neville's lost a toad, have you seen one? Turn this stupid fat rat yellow, etc. Overall, I'm not as satisfied with this chapter as I usually would have been, some of the conversations seem a bit forced, but now that we're at Hogwarts, I'm hoping that inspiration will come easier for me. I've redesigned the cirriculum quite a bit, so it should be interesting to see what you think about it. If you spot any typo's or mistypes, please point them out so that I may fix them. No work is perfect, and there's always room for improvement.

Ezryl.


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